


Warm to the touch

by Unthread (Threadcloud)



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Another Story Spoilers (Mystic Messenger), Blow Jobs, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, Vampires?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 01:49:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19122145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threadcloud/pseuds/Unthread
Summary: Zen is supernaturally beautiful, Yoosung has noticed.-Offering your neck to your vampire friend is totally within the realm of friendship, right?





	Warm to the touch

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a serious fic inspired by Muse's Dead Inside but it turned into... fluff. Maybe another time ;)

 

“I’ve never met anyone like him before,” Ray fixed his gaze on his phone while he strolled among the messages from the chat. “There are people with the same characteristics as him–albinism, it’s called–but that doesn’t seem to apply to Zen.” Curiosity tinged his voice, as if he had something in front of his eyes he couldn’t quite get a hold of.

Yoosung sat on the sofa beside Ray with his hoodie and sweatpants on. After an afternoon full of cramming and help from Ray’s brilliant mind, all he wanted to do was wind down and absorb some TV. He cooked a meal as a thank you, and now they were lounging sleepily while they decided on something to watch to end the night.

He tapped at his mug, “It doesn’t apply to Zen? What do you mean?” Yoosung would have liked it if Zen had come to hang out with them. He felt like a third wheel. Both Ray and his girlfriend were encouraging and kind with Yoosung; they seemed to love having him around and Yoosung liked them a lot, but there was an inherent loneliness in being alone with a couple so in love that made Yoosung crave company for himself. He could have sent Zen an invite but he could not find an excuse that didn’t sound like an invitation for a couple’s night. Asking him for help with his homework was out of the question and anything else sounded dishonest.

“Isn’t albinism when someone is born with less pigment than usual?” Yoosung asked. He scoured the internet when he first met Zen because he had been curious about his appearance.

“Yes, but Zen doesn’t have a lack of pigment in his hair, it’s silver. And his eyes don’t lack any either, they’re red. They have pigmentation.” Ray took the remote from Yoosung and started scrolling for a show on the TV. “A person’s eyes can look red when they have albinism because of the lack of pigment in their eyes, so their blood vessels show through. But Zen has pigmentation in his eyes. The color of his irises is red.”

These were all facts Yoosung already knew, but that he never really put together. “So he was born with silver hair and red eyes.”

Ray sighed, “You remind me of myself. Back when Saeran and I were different.” Yoosung stilled, catching himself from flinching outright. It was rare for Ray to mention his days before the RFA. He hoped it meant Ray was trusting him more. And the fact that he brought up his past at all meant that this little talk probably meant more than he first thought. “You’re soft, Yoosung, and naive.”

“Yoosung is the youngest out all of us,” came a light voice from the kitchen, “he’s like the baby of the group.”

“I’m only a year younger than Ray,” Yoosung muttered. Being called a baby by the girl he used to have a crush on kind of hurt.

Laughter came from the kitchen, then clearer as she came nearer to sit besides Ray on the sofa.

The light atmosphere didn’t permeate into Ray’s serious tone however, or he chose to ignore it.  
He turned to Yoosung and grabbed his arm. “Zen looks at you like he wants to eat you.”

“What–” his heart stuttered– 

“Ray!” Alarm rang through her voice, her eyes were wide when she turned them to Yoosung. “Don’t pay attention to him. He’s been reading some of Jumin’s books and they‘re all getting to his head.” She took Ray by the shoulder and whispered something in his ear. He watched them both with slitted eyes, saw the alarm transfer to Ray as a deep blush settled on his cheeks. Were they talking about Zen or were they sharing a sexy secret?

“I see.” Ray coughed and it was as if all the seriousness seeped out of his posture and was replaced instead with awkward embarrassment. “I misunderstood. Zen looks at you the same way he looks at everybody else.”

“Which is?” Yoosung asked. He felt like they were hiding something from him. Something to do with Zen, which was odd since he couldn’t imagine Zen having anything to hide from him.

“Which is… platonic, and–not at all like food.” Ray drawled.

_Food?_

“Ray…” came the defeated voice from beside them. Ray turned back to the TV scrolling fast through the movie titles.

“You either think Zen likes me, or that he’s secretly a cannibal,” Yoosung said flatly, “And both sound just as likely.”

“Not a cannibal, a vampire,” Ray muttered.

Discomfort filled the room. Yoosung squirmed a little, not sure if he should laugh or not. He got a tight smile and evasive eyes from the other two until Ray sighed. “Zen has never made his feelings for you–or the lack of them–known to me. And he definitely doesn’t want to drink your blood.” He clicked play on the remote and resolutely faced the screen.

 

~

 

Yoosung, in his boundless free time and curiosity, read all of Jumin's books with a voracious tenacity. And all the while he kept Ray's words in mind. Mulled them over. Let them stew.

And it is then, when the light trickling in from the window hits Zen in a particular out of this world way, that he thinks perhaps Ray was onto something.

Zen is close to the window, the light breeze coming in tousles his hair, making the untied strands of it sway in the air. He’s only stirring the cup in his hand, his smile a placid one, and Yoosung wonders how a scene so mundane can look so ethereal in this old basement room. He knows he’s staring, and Zen could catch him at any moment, but he can’t make himself stop, not until he lowers his face over his breakfast and his hair can cover his view and his reddening face.

“Feeling sleepy?” Zen asks. He threads his fingers through Yoosung’s hair, smoothing them through his scalp, the motion sending pleasant shivers down his neck. “Sometimes sleeping too much can cause you to feel tired when you wake up,” he says, then pauses while pressing his fingers a little harder at the nape of Yoosung’s neck, successfully turning him into a boneless mass. “You can stay another night. Let your body get used to sleeping more instead of pulling all those all-nighters playing LOLOL.”

Yoosung does feel tired. Zen loves waking up early in the morning and Yoosung likes to make breakfast and watch him eat it. Zen’s fingers don’t stop and now he feels like a cat being petted, basking in the sun, warmed by the soothing tone Zen carries and the soft touch of his hand. It’s a miracle Yoosung doesn’t purr.

“It’s good to take a break from video games, and I like having you here with me–hanging out with me, you know?”

“Hmm?” Yoosung struggles to keep his eyes open but squints them wide enough to see Zen looking down at him curiously. He has never seen eyes like his before. So expressive and so pretty. Zen’s emotions and soul inhabit his eyes, deep and open to anyone who looks into them. It’s one of the reasons he’s such a great actor. That profound expression becomes someone else’s, they capture and fascinate; it’s why he has so many fans riveted to his performances.

He looks at Zen’s eyes and feels their pull on him, that he makes the decision to talk about it. Ray’s theory. He's so much smarter than Yoosung, there must have been something only he could see. And Jumin's books, rare and sought after, must have spoken of some truths.

“Zen…” he whispers so as not to disturb Zen from petting at his scalp, “You must be a vampire.”

Zen’s smile freezes and the fingers in his hair still.

“Huh?”

Heat blooms in Yoosung’s cheeks but he continues, “I just mean. That there’s something–” he pauses, he thought Ray was weird for saying it. Knows that just entertaining the idea is weird, but the more he thinks about it the more sense it makes. “There’s something strange about you.”

Zen retreats and Yoosung panics a little. He’s not trying to be mean. Not really.

To his relief, Zen merely sits down in front of him, biting into his piece of toast, “How am I strange?” he asks.

Yoosung thinks of the growing pile of evidence pointing to Zen’s identity as a creature of the night. He needs to tread carefully. He can’t say that the way sunlight shines off of Zen’s skin makes him seem like the vampires in the novel or no one will take him seriously ever again.

He takes a moment to collect his thoughts. “There’s–” he begins, “There’s a pull to you. Strangers stare at you on the streets. Anyone who’s watched at least one of your shows completely loses it for you.”

Zen snorts. And even the way he does it is different from how a normal person would do it. Zen does it cutely, and Yoosung would be disgusted at himself from thinking a snort is cute, but mostly he’s just charmed. “No? I’m sure Jumin has watched me perform, and he’s not exactly my fan.”

“He respects your work!” Yoosung points out, “And if anyone’s immune to the pull of a vampire, it would be Jumin,” he says, then shoves a mouthful of salad into his mouth. Zen’s expression can only be indulgent, and a little patronizing, but he plops some of his own cherry tomatoes into Yoosung’s plate at his put out expression.

“Makes sense, I guess. His head is too full of cat hair and money to make room for anything else.” He shudders exaggeratedly, “Not that I want him to have me in his head. Yuck.”

Then he leans closer to Yoosung, conspiratorially, “Are _you_ immune to the charms of a vampire?”

Yoosung chews his salad, “Anyway, you’re very pale–”

“That doesn’t mean–”

“You heal extremely fast, you have premonitory dreams,” barring the fear of garlic and crucifixes, Yoosung keeps going; he didn’t get to talk about these facts with Ray, but he has to get these points across, “and your eyes are naturally red!”

Zen looks wholly unimpressed at his efforts. He glances down at his breakfast as if trying to pinpoint what exactly Yoosung ate that is making his brain malfunction, then he looks back with a searching, pitying expression.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Yoosung whines. “I know how I sound but there’s no one out there who’s like you. It’s just a theory to your strangeness.”

Zen perks up, unabashedly preening. “Of course there aren’t two of me. Can you imagine? The world would go into chaos trying to get a glimpse of us.” He winks. Making clear eye contact with Yoosung, he takes an exaggerated bite of his toast filling his cheeks like a squirrel. Yoosung contains a small sound. His cheeks remind him of marshmallows and they’re making his hands itch to pinch them. “But then, why am I eating this toast? Why would I ever spend money on food and risk gaining weight if I don’t need it?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” Yoosung shrugs and Zen gives a pained sigh. “Besides, I know you just bought all that stuff in your fridge because you knew I was coming over!”

“What?” Zen says, “you knew?” he covers his face with his hand but not before Yoosung sees him blush.

“Yeah? Everything was untouched. Except for the beer.” Vampires don’t blush, Yoosung knows this. It has something to do with the lack of blood in their body. Unless they just fed off of someone, and that would explain the pink in Zen’s face. Zen could probably have a line of people waiting to feed him if he so desired, but on his way to becoming famous, he wouldn’t risk the bad publicity, probably. “Anyway, haven’t you ever read a vampire novel?”

“And you have?”

“It’s so people don’t suspect you! You know, it all tastes like garbage to you, but you eat it anyway to keep up with appearances,” he says. Has Zen never actually read a vampire novel? How paranormal of him…

Plate empty, Zen motions emphatically to the crumbs and the bit of yoke remaining, “Yoosung, you made this for me. It was delicious.”

“Don’t distract me!” he valiantly tries to fight off the pleased smile those words bring to him, but knows he’s failed when Zen smirks in a smug, knowing way. It irks him even more when Zen kisses his fingers to his mouth _muah_ and his pout wobbles into a grin.

Zen’s phone vibrates in his pocket at the same time that a small chime sounds from the living room couch. Yoosung tossed his phone on the first viable surface he saw when he woke up, so he slouches over to pick it up. Zen reaches into his pocket, and it’s then that Yoosung turns back around and catches the grin on Zen’s face.

“I think I’ll need a second opinion here.” Zen types surreptitiously slow into his phone, “I’ll ask them if I need to take you to the doctor or if we can somehow salvage you from your delusions.”

A shock of adrenaline, the likes of which he has never felt before, hits Yoosung and he springs up from the couch to run straight back to the dining room table. He tries to reach for the phone in Zen’s hands but curses his smaller height when Zen easily moves it away from his grabbing hands.

“Zen, no!” Yoosung pleads mortified, his eyes twice their size in desperation. He can’t reach the phone no matter how much he stretches. Zen only laughs at his attempts and Yoosung contemplates tickling his exposed stomach to get him to bend over. Zen keeps laughing and Yoosung contemplates murder.

“You can’t–absolutely cannot–tell them I think you’re a vampire!”

“Why not?” Zen tilts his head innocently, “You’re not serious about it?” he doesn’t stop typing into his phone, and Yoosung decides it’s time to cut his losses and check in on the app. Maybe there’s a way to reverse the damage already caused to his image.

 

 

 

“ZEN!” Yoosung screams. Oh no, oh no. This is worse than that time he wrote poetry in the chat about the darkness contained in his heart. At least he could blame that on trying to help Zen for the Zekyll and White play, but this time he has nothing to fall back on and Zen knows it.

 

 

What. Are. They. Talking. About.

 

 

Yoosung takes a moment to breathe and stops reading. Jaehee is now talking about magic and faeries like Zen could be running into the forest and dancing under the moonlight on the regular. He can’t handle this. He doesn’t actually think Zen is a vampire. Not completely. Maybe a little? If someone were to question him under a bright light like at a police station, he would confess to it, yes, but that didn’t mean the whole RFA had to know about it.

 

 

Perhaps the worst thing about this all is that Zen looks so smugly happy about it. And he can’t tell if it’s because Yoosung practically called him supernaturally charming or because Yoosung gave him the perfect ammunition to make fun of him so thoroughly for the rest of his shortening lifespan.

 

 

 

A snort escapes Zen’s mouth, his contained laughter only gets louder when Yoosung glares at him.

“Why do you love tormenting me?” He asks. 

A camera shutter goes off. Zen has his camera pointed to his own face, his hand curled under his chin for dramatic effect.

“A selfie, are you serious? That was really out of nowhere, even for you.” Yoosung groans.

“Oh, shush,” Zen says. He aims the camera at Yoosung and the shutter goes off again. He probably looks like a disgruntled lobster, but Zen’s smiling like it’s the best day of his life as he taps away at his phone.

 

 

Zen guffaws obnoxiously. “This is the best day of my life!” He announces, wiping a finger under his eye, and while Yoosung will most likely never recover from this blow to his reputation, he can at least enjoy seeing Zen laugh himself to tears. The thought brings him little joy.

“Hah-” Zen coughs, “Usually it’s Seven who makes you this flustered, it’s nice to know I can do it too.”

“You have no idea,” Yoosung mutters. He shakes his head and turns his phone screen on again to focus on the messenger. “Why did you change your avatar!” His selfie has been overlayed with a dark filter and a frame of roses, giving it a gothic feel.

“Don’t I look handsome?” Zen preens. “I thought it would fit more with my vampire aesthetic.”

“I hate you so much.”

“No, you don’t,” Zen intones too pleased with himself. Yoosung pouts harder.

 

 

“You think I’m melancholic?” Zen asks like that would be a boon to his personality. Zen can be a pain in the ass. But Yoosung thinks of the moment at the window and his expression then. That wasn’t melancholic, it was serene. Zen used to have his melancholic moments when he would recede into himself, full of troubled eyes and faraway looks. But now he can’t think of the last time he mentioned taking his motorcycle out for a ride, and he almost never smokes his cigarettes to deal with his stress. Yoosung doesn’t respond. He doesn‘t know how to answer without telling Zen all the ways Yoosung has noticed him change.

  
“I should text Seven,” he says instead. Now that most of the RFA is ganging up on him, there’s a 50/50 chance that Seven will take his side if he logs in now. “He’ll do something to get you all off my back.” 

Zen smiles, “You think Seven will save you?”

“If I ask him to, he will!” Yoosung says, but he’s not very sure of that himself. Seven is the self-proclaimed Defender of Justice, but he’s also the devil. “Seven likes to make fun of me, but he’s never been cruel.”

Zen stills in his movements, mouth shaking mid-smile. “I’m not–You think I’m being cruel?” He asks like it’s a revelation that hurts him, and Yoosung scrambles.

“No!” Yoosung almost shouts, “No, no. I meant that Seven wouldn’t kick me when I’m down–” he stumbles with his words. That wasn’t any better at soothing Zen’s worries if the look in his face is anything to go by.

“Seven–are you and him… and I don’t mean this to be…” Zen covers his mouth with his palm, unsure of how to continue. He stands up, bypassing Yoosung as he takes their empty plates to the sink with a bitten off groan.

Yoosung frowns and follows, concerned about Zen’s mood change, “Are you OK?” he asks.

Zen scrubs at the plate in his hand, very deliberately not looking elsewhere. He thought they were having a good time, Zen most of all at his expense. It’s not like he said anything mean… Yoosung reaches tentatively for Zen’s sleeve. It’s precariously close to the wet countertop, so he folds it back carefully. Zen stops scrubbing, but the sigh he exhales sounds from deep within his chest.

“Sorry–I’m not…” he stops.

“I didn’t think you were being cruel to me,” Yoosung says. He looks into Zen’s eyes, hoping to convey his thoughts, hoping to decipher Zen’s, before they slide away.

It’s like a physical barrier that Yoosung has to push through as he holds on tighter to Zen’s shirt. The thought of wanting to comfort him overlaps with the desire to touch him. That want is always there and he’s afraid that Zen might somehow know that. Might see it in his face that he’s always wanted to cross this line. But wanting to make Zen feel better is not only an excuse to touch him, so Yoosung lets go of the sleeve and touches bare skin as he tugs at Zen to turn around.

Zen turns to face him and grabs Yoosung’s hand on his arm. Yoosung’s heart stops at the sudden movement, then it rabbits when Zen’s wet hand pushes against his own. Their fingers overlap together until they slide tightly close.

“I want to be able to tease you too.”

“Uhh-”

“It’s not that I’m jealous, but I know he’s actually not bad to look at, he’s smarter than anyone I’ve ever met, and he’s probably rich–not like Jumin rich–but he owns a bunch of cool cars that you seem to like–I’ve seen him shirtless and–”

“Whoa,” Yoosung cuts in, “you’ve seen him shirtless?” This is the first time Seven has been described to him in such high standing. Putting him like this makes him sound like a great catch. Does Zen think Seven is a great catch?

“Yeah? I heard he actually works out for his work, so I wanted to see if he was more fit than me.” Zen looks embarrassed, he’s finished babbling his thoughts out when he’s so careful of the image he gives to those around him. It’s a veneer that falls around in front of his friends, the RFA, but Yoosung selfishly wishes it was never there in front of him. He’s seen the real Zen. The Zen under all those perfect layers is beautiful and soft and warm. Comfortable. Yoosung wants that Zen all to himself. So Yoosung doesn’t say anything and waits for Zen to continue.

Zen moves his other hand to his face. The touch is barely there, wet yet warm, trailing water droplets and heat as Zen’s thumb roams across Yoosung’s cheek. “Do you find him more attractive than me?”

The question shocks as much as it dumbfounds him. Somehow, it almost makes him mad.

“Zen, you’re the most attractive–”

A series of musical notes jolts Yoosung, and he scrambles for his phone, wanting to jump out the basement window when he realizes what he was about to say. Yoosung’s hand clasps his phone tightly as it shakes and he deliberates between paying attention to the messenger or going back to Zen to ask him what all that was about. But Zen is frowning at his phone, and Yoosung feels weird about their interaction. Zen’s hands on him were important. Zen is always touching, always fussing like a mother hen. He likes to run his hand through his hair, to ruffle it, to touch casually when Yoosung is so afraid to. He touches like someone who isn’t afraid of being known. But this touch felt charged, it felt heavy with meaning.

 

 

The chatroom descends into chaos as everyone brings up points for and against Zen being a vampire, even Jumin seems to go for a more balanced outlook and makes points for both sides, _His allergic reactions towards Elizabeth 3rd may be a clue to his insidious nature._ Yoosung wants to leave… he brought this on himself but the amount of absurdity everyone keeps pouring out is giving him a headache.

Zen, Yoosung notices, has kept quiet, but he must feel eyes on him because he turns his head to glance back. “Did you ask Seven to save you?” He asks.

“No, but he has impressive timing,” and strangely, Zen smiles.

Zen offers him his hand, which Yoosung inadvertently takes. He doesn’t let go, not even when Zen brings it to his own chest and sighs from deep within him and Yoosung can feel the motion of his chest as it moves. The warmth seeping from Zen's chest to his hand mystifies him. He’s transfixed by the way the breath and the heartbeats that keep Zen alive are being let known so intimately to him. He savors the moment, then with a slight squeeze, Zen gently lets go.

 

 

Yoosung’s skin prickles. His heart gets stuck somewhere in his throat preventing him from speaking. His eyes slide over to meet with Zen’s and he’s met with an unreadable face. Even with the light coming in from the outside, it’s as if a shadow has settled over his eyes. Yoosung has never seen him look like this, almost devoid of emotion. The red of his irises is deep and rich, and the pounding in Yoosung’s veins gets louder and harder the longer he looks. Zen inches closer, and Yoosung shivers in response. He was right. Ray’s theory and Yoosung’s suspicion were correct. He doesn’t know what this means for him, but he knows the particular way his heart is beating is not completely in fear.

“Your face is red, Yoosung,” he says at last. Somewhere behind the rushing sound in his ears, he recognizes the onslaught of message sounds flooding the messenger. He should move. Do something. He should ask Zen what is going on, he should laugh and pretend it’s all a joke. But when Zen’s hand gingerly touches the skin of his cheek and lowers down his throat, the only thing his body does is shudder violently. His back hits the counter, and he doesn’t move away.

Zen stares at him in wonder.

Yoosung tears his eyes away, focuses his gaze lower, sees the bob in Zen’s throat before he speaks, “You always look so tempting, Yoosung. I wondered if you knew. If you wanted this too. Do you want this?” His finger moves back and forth, massaging his neck right where his pulse throbs. Zen would be gentle. He wouldn’t hurt him, Yoosung knows that much.

“I do.” Yoosung breathes out. Zen’s eyes drag heavy on him. Looking up, he sees a flush to Zen’s face. A dusting of red on his porcelain cheeks. There’s a certain timidity to him. An earnestness that only his embarrassment seems to hold in check. Yoosung can’t have that. He needs this. All the fantasies he suppressed ever since he read that stupid book are vividly flashing through his mind. He steels himself, he wants Zen’s mouth against his neck. Feel his fangs pierce his skin. He wants Zen to drink from him, taste him hot and heavy on his tongue.

Zen hesitates, “You know what–” when, carefully, Yoosung brings his arms around his neck and pulls down. Zen’s hands land heavy on his waist, shocked. They’re so close like this. Both breathing heavily; Yoosung panting into Zen’s ear and Zen breathing hot on his neck.

“You really want this?” Zen questions.

“Yes.”

“From me?” Zen’s hair brushes against his cheek as he nods. It’s so soft, he nods again just to rub his face against it.

“I wouldn’t want this from anyone but you.” He makes sure Zen can hear how much he wants it, even as his voice quivers with nerves.

When Zen speaks again, it’s only with a soft, “OK,” muffling the word right onto his skin. For a moment, they both tense, readying themselves for what's to come, then it’s Zen’s nose grazing his neck. The sensation of lips brushing against his skin, what he thinks might have been a kiss, before Zen opens his mouth and bites down. Yoosung lets out a whimper, he clutches onto Zen’s shirt as Zen grabs onto his hips in return. It doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. Zen sucks a little before he lifts his head and closes his mouth against his neck again. This time there’s less teeth. Zen’s tongue licks over him and Yoosung tries not to make any sounds. It feels… good. Zen is solid and warm against him, his mouth is hot and slick on his neck. He’s always wanted Zen’s mouth against his own, but if this is as much as he’s going to get, it’s what he’ll take.

Once Yoosung can’t contain shivering from a lick to his neck, he asks, “Are you done?” And Zen retreats. His lips are clean.

Yoosung stares.

Zen bursts out laughing at his expression, “I’m done making out with your neck, yeah.”

Did Zen–wait a second–. Yoosung stares even more, mortification landing on him like a landslide.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, betrayed.

He’s going to kill Zen.

“I never said I was a vampire?” Zen ventures, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Yoosung steps back and flushes at the way his shirt sticks to his chest. His body is overheated and on edge like any touch could set him off. Zen gives Yoosung a once-over, his smile turns into a wobbly smirk.

“Do you want me to suck on that too?”

Yoosung freezes. He’s hard. He’s painfully hard in his jeans, and Zen is asking him if he–if he wants to–. “Are you serious?”

Once Yoosung recalls this moment in his room, writing in his notebook, he will compare the color sweeping through Zen’s face to the color of the moon changing during a blood moon eclipse. Equally as mystifying, but with an expressive honesty that hits him like a kick to the gut.

“Only if _you’re_ serious?” And he looks incandescent, and it is then that Yoosung understands that Zen is very serious.

He takes a tentative step forward. Zen doesn’t meet his eyes, his bravado from a moment ago disappeared. “I am, I do,” he says, willing his voice to not waver, “but I want to kiss you first.”

He crowds Zen, lingers his hand at his waist before tugging it forward to his thigh. Zen jumps and tries to angle himself away, but Yoosung has already felt the shape of him hard against him. Yoosung moans and Zen’s eyes snap down to finally meet with his.

“Yoosung,” he gasps, and the fervor in his voice comes back in full. Zen’s heartbeat is loud against his chest, his breath as it touches him is hot even to his already heated skin. How did Yoosung ever think he was anything but alive? “You need to know, I wouldn’t want this from anyone but you either,” he says before he presses their lips together–presses and slides them, separating only to push his tongue to the seam of Yoosung’s lips. Yoosung groans, lifting his hands to tangle them in Zen’s soft hair. He closes his lips around Zen’s tongue and sucks and jumps when a hand slaps against the wall behind his head.

They separate and Yoosung turns to see the hand on the wall trembling, Zen’s other hand clasping onto his shoulder to keep himself standing, his knees buckled. Yoosung knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help the smirk settling over his mouth.

“You caught me off guard,” Zen admits. He looks disheveled. His chest rises and falls rapidly, the red flushing on his skin feels as hot as it looks. Yoosung can’t wait to get his hands all over him.

“Aren’t you the one who always says there’s a wolf inside of every man?”

“I thought it was a vampire.”

“Oh, shut up,” Yoosung says as he laughs.

Zen’s breathing returns to its normalcy. He laughs a little at Yoosung’s fake affronted tone.

“Why don’t you make me?” he says. And Yoosung takes a moment to let it all sink in. Zen is flirting with him, Zen has been flirting with him for a very long time and Yoosung… Yoosung may have been too scared to notice it before.

“Zen, do you like me?” His insecurity bursts the words out of him. Zen kissed him. Zen is red from the top of his head to the base of his neck as far as his shirt will let him see and all because of Yoosung. But there’s a difference between what their bodies want out of tonight and what Yoosung wants from Zen.

Zen presses his hips against Yoosung’s, makes the both of them groan, “I thought it was obvious,” he pants.

Yoosung struggles to speak when Zen’s hips keep wrenching moans out of him. “I mean–” he breathes, “outside of sex.”

Zen shudders and slows his movements, swaying more than grinding his hips against Yoosung’s. “No–Yoosung, I thought it was obvious.” And he pulls Yoosung’s face close to his, “That I really, really like you.”

Warmth spreads inside of him. It sparks from his chest, flushing outwards to cover his body. It prickles behind his eyelids, a pressure he has to close his eyes to contain. “Oh, that’s–that’s good,” and that’s all he can say for now.

The little laugh that comes out of Zen brims with affection. “I should have romanced you better,” he sighs. “With anybody else, it would have been easy. But with you… it’s always been hard with you.”

“You can still romance me,” Yoosung says, he trails a finger down Zen’s chest and lower, admiring how his abdomen moves in response. It’s light out, still before noon, he can’t believe his life could change so much from one day to the other. He wants to take Zen out on a date. Buy him flowers, take him to dinner, kiss him on the cheek goodnight. Make out with him and taste coffee on his tongue every morning, just like he did today. Everything he imagined he’d do with the person he loves.

“Being subtle didn’t work,” Zen laughs. He rakes his hand through Yoosung’s hair, brushing the messy parts behind his ear. Fussing. Or not. Maybe only feeling. “I’ll have to really go all out, huh?”

Yoosung shakes his head and in preparation for what he says next, buries his face against Zen’s neck. Their hips are still touching, now their chests, their skin trapping heat between each other, and yet Yoosung wants more. He wanted to feel Zen break his skin and enter him, like a clawing inside of him he has to reign in. He wants to feel Zen. He wants him to know. “Do you know why the vampires in the books are so dangerous?”

“They’re beautiful,” Zen says. a little thrown off by the sudden change in conversation, “They use their looks to reel the poor unsuspecting humans in, right? Like a sundew flower.” He hums and moves his arms so they’re around Yoosung swaying him side to side. Their urgency from before is gone, and it’s as if only touching, hugging, like this is enough. “It makes them the perfect predator if they also have superhuman strength.”

“You’re close.” Yoosung mumbles. His heart races, thumps audibly in his ears, he hopes Zen understands what he wants to say. “Drawing a human in and killing them only to get their blood once is inefficient. The reason why they’re so dangerous is because they make people want to give them their blood, they want them to come back again and again.”

“So with their thrall? Their hypnotism?” Zen smirks, “Their charms?”

Yoosung swallows. “Yeah. The humans always fell in love with the vampires.”

The clock in Zen’s living room ticks. Zen doesn’t say anything back, but he keeps swaying them on.

“They pretend to hide who they really are. They give out hints while they charm their prey, but in the end, they wait for the human to ask themselves. They want the human to want it. To offer themselves.” Yoosung breathes in– then out, “Just like I did for you.”

It’s as if all the sound has left the room, and Yoosung can only hear the rushing of his own blood coursing through him and beating in and around his ears. A pin-drop of a second passes before sound comes back in the form of Zen saying, “ _Oh._ ”

“You don’t have to try hard at all, because I’m already in love with you.” and saying that is without a doubt the bravest thing Yoosung has done in his life. He waits for Zen to say anything. Anything at all–

Zen hugs him, before Yoosung can see the expression in his face, Zen is hugging him, and then kissing him harder than he did before. Zen keeps pushing and pushing with his body until Yoosung starts sliding down the wall. Without breaking the kiss, Zen grabs Yoosung by the back of his thighs and _lifts_. Yoosung can feel himself pressing against Zen’s stomach, one of Zen’s hands slides up to his ass and this time he can’t stop himself from rubbing against Zen’s body. Yoosung is not actually small, as much as the RFA likes to say, and Zen isn’t trembling at all from his weight. He’s dizzy thinking about it.

“You have to let me breathe,” Yoosung pants once he manages to stop kissing back. His voice is so low. He’s never heard himself sound like this before. Zen’s stare is dark with his eyes half-hooded and his red irises overshadowed by his dark pupils.

“Ok,” Zen says, then he’s lowering Yoosung onto the couch so his head is resting on a soft cushion and his legs are dangling to the side, “I’ve kissed you now,” he says while dragging his hands down his chest and down his sides before opening his pants. Yoosung’s hips snap up when a finger brushes against his dick and he hears the low timbered laugh it elicits from Zen.

“Excited?” Zen asks. He moves his palms up and down Yoosung’s jeans, digging his thumbs at the inner sides.

“Zen…” Yoosung whines. He tries not to wiggle, as much as he wants to move, he doesn’t want to look desperate, but it’s a near thing.

He can’t control the garble of words he makes when Zen lifts his shirt up to flutter kisses down his sternum, down to his stomach, and licks a stripe up from the waistband of his jeans to his bellybutton. “Can I?”

How long has all the blood in his body been centered below his waist? He might pass out.

“Zen, yes–” he hisses out, peeking from behind one arm, torn between watching Zen as he licks his briefs with his pretty mouth and covering the want scorched on his face.

Zen holds his thighs up with his biceps when they start to tremble around his head, but he doesn’t stop Yoosung’s slow pushing of his hips against his mouth. Zen teases with his tongue, swiping it and prodding at the hardness beneath him and Yoosung distantly hears himself whine. He’s so hot. He reaches behind himself to pull at his hoodie and his sweaty shirt. Zen blinks at him from below. Then he leans forward to mouth at his nipple before he licks at Yoosung’s mouth.

“You’re pink,” Zen smiles, “how can your nipples be cute too?”

Yoosung blushes, Zen is much more collected than he is. Once again he’s taking the lead and Yoosung is only being left to react. “Are you pink down here as well?”

He takes a minute to compose himself, then he’s grabbing at Zen’s shirt, fumbling with the buttons. “I bet yours are paler than mine.” Zen shivers, lets Yoosung’s hands roam around his chest. “See, delicate like a young rose.”

Zen barks out a laugh, “Yoosung, please be quiet before I never have sex with you again.”

Yoosung grins undeterred. Zen’s lips are no longer pink, they’re kiss-bruised red, but his nipples are still a soft, powder pink. His hair has been let out of its ponytail long ago, and it’s now cascading down and pooling around Yoosung’s own. “Why _are_ you so pale?” he wonders.

“I’m not from the horror genre. I’m more of a fairytale kinda guy.” The view from below is fantastic, Yoosung decides, when Zen retreats to straddle his hips and towers over him with his shirt open and his hair down.

Zen keeps his hands moving on him as if he were giving him a massage. It’s a good thing Yoosung is currently too turned on to get ticklish.

“And your eyes, too. Why are they red?” _How can you be so strikingly beautiful,_ Is what Yoosung wants to say.

Zen frowns, “I don’t know?” he says crossing his arms, “Can we not talk about this right now?”

Yoosung would not believe that somebody that looks like Zen would be uncomfortable talking about his own appearance, but he knows Zen, and Yoosung’s clearly hit a nerve. He really wants to know why, but–another time. When he’s willing to talk more about it.

“Did you know that you feature often in the poetry I write?” Yoosung ventures. He reaches out to twirl a strand of Zen’s hair around his finger.

“You write poetry?” Zen laughs incredulously, “About me?”

“Yeah,” he says. He’s not embarrassed about it, not now, though his palms are sweating a little. “There’s no exaggeration when I use similes for you in my writing. You’re striking. You’re otherworldly beautiful. And though you like to be fawned over by your appearance, you’re down to earth, and kind. You’re so funny, you care for others, you’re talented beyond measure…” Yoosung looks to Zen’s eyes. They’re focused on his already.

“I think I just declared my love for you again,” Yoosung grins.

Zen squirms on top of him, “I’m going to suck your dick now.” And he stands from his perch on Yoosung’s hips and with one smooth motion takes off his pants and his briefs so Yoosung is left naked under him.

“God, look at you…” Zen shivers, his expression transfixed.

He lowers himself slow, to let Yoosung watch. He takes his thighs to his biceps again and finds his dick with his mouth licking at it with tentative sweeps of his tongue. Yoosung throws his head back to moan, his hands finding purchase on Zen’s hair. Zen stops mouthing at him, and Yoosung tries very hard to not freak out. “Look at me,” Zen says, he takes one of Yoosung’s hands and tugs at it until Yoosung lifts his head up to look. “I want you to see.”

He very much wants to look, but he’s afraid this will last all of two seconds if he lets himself. “I can’t–”

“You can.” He puts Yoosung’s hand on his hair, lets him thread his fingers in. “Come on, tell me how much you like this.” He licks the drops of pre forming at the tip, sucks on the head a little before he opens his mouth wider to swallow it down.

Yoosung’s throat makes a cut-off strangled sound. “Zen–God, that’s so good.”

“Mm–hm,” Zen hums, and Yoosung feels the vibrations of it all the way up his spine.

“You’re–good, it feels so good, Zen,” he babbles. He moves his body unabashedly, moans keep pouring out of him when he’s not praising Zen, and he’s so close, so fast– He has to think of something else, anything to distract himself from coming too soon, but Zen keeps sucking, his lips are slick with his own saliva and Yoosung’s pre, and his cheeks are well to becoming red as well.

“You’re so beautiful,” he lets slip out. And he keeps saying it because Zen keeps humming whenever he does. He can’t believe it– Zen’s getting off on it. At any other time, it would be funny, but right now with Zen sucking on him, it’s the hottest thing in the world.

Zen moves faster on him. He’s never felt anything better than Zen’s slick and hot mouth on him. One of Zen’s arms moves from under his thigh and Yoosung hears and feels him moan on his skin. Yoosung is so close, but then he realizes that Zen is using his hand to touch himself. The sound of slick skin moving against slick skin and Zen’s moans on him become too much and he lets go, arching his back and throwing his head back again with a shout.

He pants until he gets his breathing under control and wipes at the sweat from his brow. Zen’s mouth is still on him and Yoosung looks at him with alarm, “Zen! Let me go get a tissue–”

“You thought I’d drink your blood but not your come?” Zen grins, “Uh, but I do need one for my hand.”

_Holy shit–_

“You didn’t.” Yoosung says too shocked to do anything but stare, “but it’s–it’s gross.”

“I did,” Zen says and uses one of the tossed shirts to wipe his hand. “I won’t do it again if you don’t want me to, but it’s not gross if it’s from you.”

“That’s… oddly touching.” He could get used to it. If it were Zen’s, he would do the same. Yoosung smiles at that as embarrassed as it makes him feel. He stands up on unstable legs just to push Zen onto the couch so he can lie on top of him.

“You’re so weird,” Yoosung mutters while he rests his head on top of Zen’s chest, and louder he says, “but I want to do the same for you.”

Zen hums, content. They bask in each other’s warmth, sometimes drawing lazy circles on each other, and mostly dozing, until Zen’s stomach gurgles. “I’m hungry again,” he says it like it’s a shock to him and Yoosung laughs. He thinks of going out with Zen, of the flower shop nearby and the cafe he frequents.

“Come on,” Yoosung sits up, straddling Zen, “let’s go get you some lunch.”

 

~

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Chatroom images are from http://shaorankun.com/mmchat/  
> Thank you for reading!  
> Ray's misunderstanding comes from him not living in the real/outside world for most of his life. Yoosung has no such excuses, he's just like that.


End file.
